


When All Else Fails

by childrenofthesun



Series: Two Demons, One Stone [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (yes again), Aziraphale makes Bad Decisions, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Eventual Happy Ending, Fuck Or Die, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, OC Demon (Asmodeus), Sort Of, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthesun/pseuds/childrenofthesun
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are inching their way towards a relationship in the wake of the failed Apocalypse.Hell still wants their pound of flesh, though, and surely, wouldn't Aziraphale give up anything to keep Crowley safe?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Asmodeus
Series: Two Demons, One Stone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664131
Comments: 65
Kudos: 190
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hi, still alive, just being slapped across the face by work and uni simultaneously
> 
> So, this fic has been sitting around half-finished since last September, and I sort of went into a writing frenzy over the weekend and finished the entire thing in one go. Granted, it's only an prologue, two chapters, and an epilogue, but it was still an interesting experience to completely finish something other than a one-shot before posting anything for it.
> 
> Nothing too terrible happens in the prologue, but definitely heed the tags for the content of the actual chapters. Not for the faint of heart. Chapter 1 will go up Tuesday morning for me (so Monday evening for most folks reading this). Do feel free to have a yell at me in the comments or on Tumblr (@childrenofthesunny) if I forget ;)

Crowley was doing his utmost to not stare at Aziraphale's hands as the two of them took a leisurely moonlit stroll through St James Park, and was quite utterly failing at it. He wanted so desperately to reach out, to tangle their fingers together, but the few inches of space between them seemed an impassable chasm.

Aziraphale's hands were practically made for holding, for sweet caresses and gentle touches. Plump, soft. Nails perfectly manicured, as always. Swinging innocuously in time with the angel's stride, back and forth like a pendulum, counting out each second Crowley just walked alongside him and didn't do anything about it.

He was a demon, for Satan's sake. This shouldn't have been this hard. Armageddon had gone down with a whimper instead of a bang, it wasn't like Heaven was going to make Aziraphale Fall for reciprocating the feelings of a demon, not after the stunt with the hellfire. All he needed to do was reach out those few inches and link the angel's fingers with his own. He'd done far more intimate things with other people, it seemed ludicrous that the fact that he was utterly besotted with the angel changed the ease of his actions to such a degree.

Crowley suddenly became intensely aware of his own breathing, the fact that as a demon he didn't need to breathe, and had he always breathed like _this_ , it didn't seem right, maybe he'd been doing it wrong this entire time and Aziraphale had been too polite to say anything-

He took a desperate gulp of air and snatched up the angel's hand before he could start hyperventilating.

Aziraphale paused mid-stride. He took in the way Crowley was wheezing asthmatically, how his face had gone so red it almost blended into his hair, and how he pointedly wasn't looking at where their fingers were entwined.

The angel smiled, and it was brighter than the sun.

"Shut up," Crowley choked out.

Aziraphale's smile didn't dim a single watt. "I didn't say anything, my dear."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the angel still smiling to himself, the demon still blushing flame-red and struggling to remember how all his limbs were meant to function.

"So," Aziraphale ventured eventually, giving Crowley's hand a meaningful squeeze. "Was it anything in particular that brought this on?"

"N-" Crowley paused, immediately having to recompose himself. "Nah, no reason," he said, adding a casual sniff at the end to really sell it.

Predictably, Aziraphale saw right through him. "Well, I would imagine that not having our former employers breathing down our necks might've helped things along?"

"Mm," Crowley agreed, not currently trusting his ability to form a coherent sentence.

"I am sorry for always forcing you to take the lead in these things," Aziraphale said quietly. "But I suppose I've gotten used to it over the years, and after Armageddon failed and you didn't bring it up at all, I wasn't sure if you still wanted…"

Crowley's voice cracked. "I do. I want to give you everything, angel, if you'll have me."

Aziraphale's expression somehow got even softer as they came to a halt outside the bookshop. Crowley gave a little start as he became aware of their surroundings. He hadn't even noticed that they'd entered Soho. He hadn't even noticed they'd left the park.

"Of course I’ll have you, Crowley," he said fondly, then his smile grew a little devious at the edges. "That being said, considering your reaction to holding my hand in the first place, would it be too much to ask for a kiss goodnight?"

"I- guh," Crowley told him succinctly, his brain apparently deciding now was an appropriate time to vacate the premises.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, brow furrowing a little in concern. Crowley promptly grabbed the lapels of the angel's coat and, before he could second-guess himself, hauled Aziraphale in for a kiss, mouths crashing inelegantly together.

There was a bit of flailing - largely on Crowley's part, as Aziraphale melted into the touch almost instantly - but then it was like the sun finally catching the moon, like two sides of the same coin finally touching, like the half of Crowley's soul that he hadn't even known was missing finally slotting back into place. He felt like days went by, then seasons, then generations, but at the same time, could feel the actual seconds passing by with more accuracy than a scientific clock.

He pulled away after exactly two and a half minutes, his entire body tingling like it was threatening to implode. "Think that's about all I can manage for now without literally turning into a puddle of goo," he rasped breathlessly.

"Surely, not literally," Aziraphale smiled, thumb brushing over Crowley's knuckles, fingers still entwined.

"No, literally. I'm going to de-atomise if you keep kissing me like that. I'll have to reconstitute my own matter, it won't be a pleasant experience."

Aziraphale gave him a mock-pout as they disentangled their hands, mouth still turned up at the edges. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" he said. "Tell you what, why don't you come back tomorrow, and we'll see if a good night's rest will allow you to manage more?"

Crowley didn't want to leave the angel's side for a second, but it would be good to have a moment to process. Particularly in a setting where he couldn't turn the footpath outside the angel's bookshop into a nuclear exclusion zone by radiating his pure joy all over the place. "Probably a good idea, yeah."

"Marvellous. You'll join me for breakfast in the morning, then?" His eyes twinkled. "I believe I'll be in the mood for crepes."

"Sounds like a plan," Crowley replied, wrapping his metaphorical arms around his emotions to keep any nearby wildlife from spontaneously growing any extra appendages. "See you 'round 8?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Aziraphale told him, then retreated into the bookshop, casting yet another fond smile over his shoulder as he went.

Crowley turned smartly on his heel, grinning like a lunatic, fully intending to retreat to the sanctum of his flat in Mayfair to indulge in a highly embarrassing and entirely undemonic happy dance.

Aziraphale had returned Crowley's affections. Had _kissed_ him. Might well even love him.

It really had been a perfect day.

So of course it stood to reason that it was precisely then that a portal to Hell opened up underneath him, the ground catching at his feet, sucking him down. He clawed at the pavement, trying to keep himself on Earth, but it was like trying to keep an ice cube frozen whilst standing on the sun. Cracked concrete snapped shut against his head as the portal pulled him further down, slamming his brain against the inside of his skull, and he was gone.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning, lovelies! We're earning our rating this chapter, please proceed with caution! Also FYI, there is art at the end of the chapter ;)

The first thing Crowley noticed when he came to was that his access to miracles had been cut off completely. He felt the absence of his demonic powers like a yawning pit deep within him, rendering him about as effective as the average human. He looked down, and saw golden manacles closed around his wrists, faintly glowing, etched with a language he'd once understood but now hurt to so much as look at.

Holy chains.

That wasn't good.

Whilst it didn't at all surprise him that Hell had gotten its grubby hands on a pair, he had to wonder just what they'd had to do to come into possession of such an artefact. Heaven didn't relinquish its assets lightly, after all.

He shuddered and steered his mind away from that train of thought before it could travel any further. It was probably better not to know. Instead, he looked around the room, trying to divine the purpose he'd been brought here for.

It was not lost on him that this was the same room that his would-be execution had taken place in. Even with the bathtub gone and the fact that he'd only seen the place in the second-hand memories given to him by Aziraphale, in case of exactly the sort of scenario he presently found himself in, there was no mistaking the way the room itself seemed to bear him ill will.

_Well, they did say they built it specially for me_ , he thought humourlessly.

Time was always a little fuzzy in Hell - for all that most of its denizens didn't have any imagination, they at least knew that those who did could often torture themselves with possibilities far better than any demon, if left to their own devices for too long - so Crowley wasn't sure if minutes or days had passed when a door materialised behind him and opened.

" _Someone's_ been a naughty demon, haven't they? And not in any way that's approved of around here."

Crowley froze. He knew that voice.

"Lord Asmodeus," he said calmly, not turning around, doing nothing to betray the warning klaxons screaming in his head.

Crowley could feel the rolling heat of Asmodeus' body as he stepped closer, the heady scent of spice and musk filling his nostrils as the Prince of Lust sauntered in from his periphery.

He was shirtless, as was often his wont, broad shoulders leading down to a trim waist and toned abdomen, a neat line of dark hair forming a tempting trail down into his unbuttoned jeans. Crowley would have rolled his eyes at the fact that Asmodeus surely had to be miracling his pants to keep them from falling down, if he weren't so terrified.

"Crowley, Crowley, Crowley," he tutted, smiling hugely. "What _are_ we going to do with you?"

"Seeing how well having me down here went for everyone last time, it's probably best for you to let me go."

Asmodeus let out a melodic peal of laughter, the waves of his dark, silky hair bouncing as he tossed them over his shoulder. "I'm sure you've noticed, but we've taken precautions."

"Oh, you mean these?" Crowley raised an eyebrow and rattled the manacles encircling his wrists. "What makes you think these would work any better than the holy water did?"

Asmodeus' voice was a unconcerned purr. "Because if they didn't, you would have done something about it by now. If you're still demonic enough to be Summoned to Hell, you're still demonic enough to be bound by holy chains." He kept on grinning. "Go on, then. Prove that I haven't called your bluff."

Crowley ground his teeth and stared hard at the floor.

"That's what I thought," Asmodeus said smugly, and vanished Crowley's clothing with a wave of his hand. A long chain unfurled from the ceiling, attaching itself to his manacles, making him grunt when it retracted and pulled his arms above his head, forcing him up onto his toes. "Let's get right down to it, shall we?"

Crowley didn't say anything, mind racing a mile a minute. It didn't seem Hell had figured out his trick with the holy water, otherwise they would have just threatened him with that. He could only imagine that Asmodeus was doing this as punishment for Armageddon, but he supposed it didn't really matter either way; Asmodeus was the Prince of Lust, he didn't really need a reason. Crowley knew he himself was one of the more aesthetically pleasing demons around, at any rate, this was far from the first time that Asmodeus had sought him out. It would have almost been flattering, if it weren't so horrifying.

"Don't," he said quietly, futilely.

"Why do you always hide those pretty eyes?" Asmodeus crooned, ignoring him, lifting Crowley's sunglasses from his face. Crowley couldn't keep himself from flinching at that last piece of protection being stripped from him, making him feel far more naked than the removal of his clothes had. "And what _have_ you done to those gorgeous locks of yours, shearing them off like that?" He ran his fingers through the artfully messy spikes of Crowley's hair, and the strands lengthened under his touch until they tumbled past Crowley's collarbones. Once he was finished, Asmodeus gripped Crowley by the newly grown hair, murmuring, "Much better."

Crowley heard a zipper going down, felt the blunt, slicked head of Asmodeus' cock nudge up against his unprepared hole, and his eyes widened. This wasn't how Asmodeus usually operated, he'd always delighted in prepping Crowley slowly whenever they'd done this before, making a game of it, forcing the lesser demon to beg for him-

"For what it's worth, if it had been my decision, I would have done this gently," Asmodeus told him by way of an explanation, and shoved himself all the way in.

Crowley screamed.

It was more the shock of it than the pain. For demons, any physical harm they could think up to inflict on one another would pale in comparison to the agony of their Fall, which tended to make any bodily torture of a demon dissatisfying on its own. But, augment it with psychological torture, humiliation, degradation, demonstrating just how powerless the demon being punished truly was… _that_ always got a favourable reaction. Lust was a particularly effective tool in achieving this - even if the demon in question didn't surrender to the arousal to make things easier on themselves, their body would betray them eventually. Asmodeus was certainly skilled enough to wrench an orgasm from even the most obstinate of demons.

And Crowley had always been too stubborn for his own good.

It didn't mean that Asmodeus couldn't get him hard in a matter of minutes, even with the pain. He was a master of the craft, after all, fingers twisting and swirling in all the ways he'd learnt Crowley liked best, moving with long, slow drags that he soon matched with the thrust of his hips.

Instinctively, Crowley pulled on his chains in a futile attempt to get away from the invasive stretch. The chain promptly gave way, the links dissipating until only the ones between the manacles remained, and the sudden lack of support dropped him all the way down onto the other demon's cock. Even as the motion sent a fresh wave of pain through him, he felt a sharp bolt of pleasure as Asmodeus rubbed up against his prostate, his own cock twitching traitorously at the sensation.

He hated Asmodeus, hated Hell, hated himself.

Asmodeus slid one hand across Crowley's chest, keeping their bodies flush and stopping Crowley from simply toppling forward, then casually strolled over to the mirror opposite them, Crowley still impaled on his cock. For his part, Crowley struggled not to whimper with every step, his body still crying out in shock and pain at the unwanted intrusion.

The window had been covered in a silvery sheen, reflecting his own image back at him without letting him see into the other room. It was definitely worse than the alternative - he didn't need to see who was on the other side of the mirror to imagine them laughing and jeering at him, and this way, he was confronted with the contortions of his own pathetic face as Asmodeus rolled up into him. He narrowed his eyes and snarled at his reflection, only for his face to be shoved against the glass, Asmodeus using the counter-pressure to fuck into him all the harder.

Crowley's bound hands came up to uselessly press against the glass, nails slipping against the smooth surface and offering him no purchase. Asmodeus kept pounding into him, and Crowley's face began to slide against the mirror as sweat beaded along his forehead. With a disapproving cluck of his tongue, Asmodeus pulled out and spun Crowley around to face him.

He grabbed Crowley by the throat, slamming him up against the mirror, the glass staying intact only through demonic intervention. Crowley gurgled, manacled hands grabbing at Asmodeus' wrist to try to relieve the pressure on his currently all-too-human windpipe. He wasn't worried that Asmodeus would discorporate him - the fun had barely started for him, after all, it wouldn't do to kill Crowley and effectively set him free when he had him so neatly captured - but he absolutely wouldn't put it past him to choke Crowley all the way into unconsciousness.

Smiling serenely, Asmodeus slid his free hand under one of Crowley's thighs, hoisting up his knee and pressing it back, nearly flush with the mirror, so that his hole was exposed once more. Asmodeus sank into him with a satisfied sound, leaving Crowley to try and leverage himself away from the intrusion by pulling himself up towards the hand around his throat, arms shaking with the effort.

Star-studded darkness began to encroach on the edges of his vision, his trembling intensifying until he grew too weak to support his own weight. He slumped against the glass, both increasing the pressure on his neck and forcing him down hard onto Asmodeus' cock.

Asmodeus groaned and spilled deep inside him, flooding Crowley with invasive heat as his mind teetered on the edge of giving up on consciousness entirely. Just when it seemed that the darkness would finally offer him some meagre relief, Asmodeus pulled out and let go of his throat, leaving Crowley to slide down the wall with a hoarse gasp for air.

Without even giving him the chance to properly catch his breath, Asmodeus twisted a handful of Crowley's hair in one hand and yanked him upright, dragging him back to the centre of the room. He snapped his fingers so that Crowley's chains were attached to the ceiling once more, not giving him time to even get a solid footing before impaling him on his cock. Crowley barely managed a feeble moan of protest, and Asmodeus laughed, taking hold of Crowley's hips and pushing in as deep as his body would allow.

"You sure I can't convince you to cum for me like this?" Asmodeus murmured with an insidious grin. "It's not like you haven't before. And we both know I'm going to get you there eventually, why bother fighting it? Wouldn't it be easier for you, to just give in?"

"Ngh," Crowley grunted. "Fuck off." If Asmodeus wanted to humiliate him, he was going to have to work for it.

Even if it was starting to get very, very close.

Asmodeus sighed with a vaguely disappointed tone behind him, still not missing a beat as he pounded into Crowley's arse. "We're not really getting anywhere fast with this, are we? You always were so stubborn," he said. "Let's see if we can't speed up the timetable, hm?"

"What-" Crowley started weakly, then cut himself off with a shout as the anchor point of his chains shifted from the ceiling to the floor, dragging him down onto his knees. Asmodeus kept a firm grip on his hips, riding him all the way down. Crowley groaned quietly at the new angle, barely making a sound of protest when Asmodeus' hand fisted in his hair once more, forcing him to lift his head and his spine to bend.

It barely even registered in Crowley's mind that he'd probably been positioned to face the door for a reason before it opened, revealing two demonic guards flanking a third, all too familiar, figure.

Tan oxfords and cream-coloured slacks. A dress shirt in robin's egg blue underneath a well-worn waistcoat and a tartan bowtie. A halo of cherubic white-blond curls.

A set of blackened manacles scrawled with infernal script, a dark mirror to the bindings holding Crowley, encircled around plump wrists.

_No no no, they can't have him too-_

"You can sit him down there," Asmodeus said calmly, nodding to the space in front of Crowley as he spontaneously manifested a sturdy but sumptuous chair. The guard demon holding onto the end of the chains enclosing Aziraphale's wrists tugged, and the angel stumbled numbly forward as he was forced into the seat. Asmodeus inclined his head again and the chains of Aziraphale's manacles wrapped themselves around the arms of the chair, holding him in place. "That will be all," Asmodeus told the two guard demons, and they obediently left, leaving Crowley alone with his tormentor, and the angel he loved.

There was a haunted, horrified look in Aziraphale's eyes, and Crowley instinctively knew he'd seen _everything_. That this whole time, it had been the angel on the other side of the mirror, watching on as Crowley received his punishment. Asmodeus pulled out until just the head of his cock remained inside Crowley, then slammed back in, nearly pushing him forward with the force of it.

With an anguished cry, Crowley splattered his load on the floor.

Asmodeus blinked. Then a wide grin stretched across his face. "Wow. _That's_ what finally got you over the edge, knowing that your boyfriend's been watching you get fucked within an inch of your life? You really are a filthy fucking freak, even for a demon, you know that?" He kept smiling as he rolled his hips into Crowley's oversensitive body. "Better that he finds out like this, rather than when the two of you were alone. I doubt he'd know how to handle you."


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! More art in this one, SFW with a bit of stylised blood. Epilogue will go up Monday morning AEST!

"So. Aziraphale." Asmodeus' tone was casual, even as he continued rolling filthily into Crowley. "Have you thought any more on what I asked you?"

Crowley scraped together enough cognisance to make a confused sound.

"Oh, didn't you realise?" Asmodeus leant down and whispered in his ear, voice dripping with faux innocence. "As _delicious_ as I find you, this has nothing to do with you. This is all the angel's fault." He licked a stripe up the side of Crowley's jaw, dark eyes watching Aziraphale all the while as he raised his voice again. "So, what will it be? Are you going to do as I say?"

Crowley shook his head, silently begging Aziraphale to say no to whatever Asmodeus was offering.

Aziraphale's voice was small and anguished. "I... I can't. Crowley, I'm so sorry, I _can't_."

"Suit yourself." Asmodeus shrugged, failing to sound disappointed. He clicked once as he straightened up, miracling his cock to twice its previous size, and shoved himself as deep as Crowley's body would allow.

Crowley barely had the presence of mind to smother his cry of pain into a whimper. Aziraphale still flinched like he'd been struck, hands tightening into fists in the confines of his manacles, and with horror Crowley realised that the angel had definitely heard all of his unfettered cries earlier from behind the mirror.

"Oh, yes," Asmodeus groaned, pumping his hips rapid-fire until he shuddered, and the sound of him fucking into the smaller demon got exponentially wetter and lewder as he came. "Oh, Aziraphale, I bet you can only imagine what it feels like to have him clenching around you like that, can't you? Has he ever begged you to fill him up like the little slut he is? Do you think you could ever measure up to what _I_ can do?"

Whilst Asmodeus could dispense with his refractory period as he wished, Crowley currently didn't have that luxury, and he couldn't help his thin whine as Asmodeus leant down and circled a hand around his still oversensitive cock. He tried to bury his face in the crook of his elbow, to hide himself from his predicament and pretend like none of it was happening. Asmodeus dashed his pitiful attempt to shreds by clicking, Crowley's chains attaching themselves to the ceiling once more and hauling him back against Asmodeus' chest. The Prince of Lust caught him easily, one hand still on Crowley's cock. The other grazed along his quivering abdomen, up to tease at his nipples until they hardened into points. Crowley jerked at the touch, face flushed a miserable crimson as he tried to hide behind his own bicep. Then Asmodeus' hand completed its journey, getting a firm grip on Crowley's chin and forcing him to look at Aziraphale. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still feel Aziraphale's agonised gaze burning against his bare skin, could hear the angel's poorly muffled weeping.

"Stop," Aziraphale begged. "I'll do anything else, please, just ask me anything else..."

Asmodeus ignored him, breath hot against the shell of Crowley's ear. "D'you think maybe he _likes_ watching this, and that's why he won't save you? I can tell he hasn't got anything going on downstairs currently, but I can change that. Those beige trousers do at least have the benefit of very quickly showing us if he was getting wet. Would you like that, hm? Watching him squirm as he tries to pretend that the sight of you getting fucked within an inch of your life doesn't get his motor going? Maybe I could give him a nice, fat cock, stuff your whore mouth full, too, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Shut up," Crowley whimpered shakily, eyes watering. He let out a shuddering gasp as Asmodeus thrust in particularly deep, and the dam broke, the tears finally falling like they were never going to stop.

"Oh, but you _are_ pretty when you cry," Asmodeus crooned. "You love finally being able to show him what a slut you really are, I can tell."

"I don't," Crowley sobbed, hating the way that his tearful denial made Aziraphale flinch. Then Asmodeus squeezed, just a little, and Crowley was cumming again.

"Of course you don't," Asmodeus simpered. "This whole situation clearly isn't turning you on at all."

After that, Crowley didn't even bother stifling his sobs, tears tracking down his face in silence as he limply accepted the continued violation of his body. Dimly, he was aware that his abandonment of all hope had to be harder to watch than even his pitiful struggles, but he simply didn't have the willpower left to put on a brave face anymore.

He barely made a sound as another orgasm was forced out of him.

Asmodeus smirked over at Aziraphale. "This is quite literally my job, you know. I can do this for an eternity if I need to." He pointedly glanced down at Crowley's trembling body and raised an eyebrow. "D'you suppose _he_ can?"

"Don't," Crowley whispered, forcing himself to lift his gaze to meet Aziraphale's. "Whatever it is, don't, I'm not worth it."

Aziraphale stared at him, anguished, then something in his expression hardened, shoulders back, lips pursing slightly.

Crowley's eyes widened. He'd known the angel long enough to know what he looked like when he'd made up his mind. "Aziraphale, no-"

"I am sorry, Crowley, you are entirely worth it. I've been beyond cruel if I've led you to believe you're not worth my love." He stood and lifted his chin, barely able to straighten up with his cuffs still tethered to the chair. He glared at Asmodeus, who just grinned hungrily back. "I, Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, do so disavow myself of my Heavenly Grace-"

Crowley felt like he'd been punched in the chest _._

Not this.

Anything but this.

Aziraphale truly would never speak to him again if he let this happen.

"Angel," he gasped. " _Don't-_ "

Aziraphale lifted his voice, not wavering in the slightest. "-and cast myself from the light of God-"

"Stop!" Crowley shouted, panic lending him a surge of energy as he struggled futilely against Asmodeus' grip. "You don't need to do this, I'll be fine, this isn't even the worst thing that's ever happened to me, you have no idea what Falling feels like-"

"-For the Sin of loving another far more than I have ever loved Her," he finished fiercely, his eyes hard as steel.

Asmodeus pulled out of him and Crowley collapsed, sobbing.

Several seconds passed, and Asmodeus frowned, absently miracling himself back to decency - or, at least as close to decent as the Prince of Lust ever got. "That should have worked," he said, sounding annoyed as he stood and took in Aziraphale's increasingly bewildered expression. "What more does She-"

The angel suddenly shrieked, flinging his head back, spine twisting unnaturally as a shockwave louder than any thunderclap rolled off of him. The force of it made Crowley cower even lower and sent Asmodeus stumbling back a few paces. The chains binding Aziraphale to the chair unravelled and pooled on the floor as the seat vanished out from underneath him. The ground beneath him cratered as he fell to his hands and knees, fire licking up through the cracks, but it didn't give out under him - he was already in Hell, after all, Falling couldn't physically bring him any lower. He wailed in agony, golden tears streaming down his cheeks, rapidly turning black. His very bones felt like they were cracking and splintering, the light of Heaven stripped from his soul strand by glittering strand, his connection to the love of God torn asunder with the same uncaring, all-consuming might as a black hole.

"Finally," Asmodeus murmured, annoyance replaced by vindictive satisfaction.

Aziraphale jerked his head upright, eyes suddenly blazing with a righteous fury that was quickly giving way to a raging desire for vengeance.

In the moment before his Grace was ripped from him completely, Aziraphale reached _through_ his corporeal form, seizing his Grace and tearing it out of himself with a near-bestial roar. It was a glowing, divine thing, all the brighter for being in the depths of Hell, and it almost seemed to have weight, growing hotter and heavier in Aziraphale's hands with every passing second as he shakily got to his feet. Before long, it started to sear him, tendrils of smoke rising up between his fingers. He barely even felt it, overwhelmed by the pain he was already experiencing from removing it from himself in the first place.

Asmodeus stared at the raw divinity pulsing in Aziraphale's hands, wide-eyed, and the Falling angel gave him a hard smile, panting as he struggled to speak. "You must realise by now what a monumentally poor decision you've made," he said, his tone soft but his voice raw, and flung the burning manifestation of his departing Grace directly at the Prince of Lust.

A lot of things happened all at once.

The manacles around Aziraphale's wrists, designed to keep an angel's powers bound, were effectively reduced to ugly bracelets now that they were being worn by a demon. They snapped like twigs as Aziraphale broke free of them with a thought.

Aziraphale's wings sprang from his back, a scattering of white feathers cascading around him as his plumage was rapidly shot through with black. He lurched forward, wings flinging out in a protective shroud over Crowley's prostrate form, shielding him from the blinding light of Aziraphale's castoff Grace.

The Grace itself soared gently, silently through the air, touched against Asmodeus' chest, and exploded.

Aziraphale braced, unable to tell if the searing agony in his wings was from being exposed to raw divinity, or from having that divinity stripped from him to begin with. His ears rang, but otherwise there was no sound, not even from the demon trembling under the shelter of Aziraphale's newly darkened wings, smoke drifting gently from the tips of his feathers. Slowly, pain still spasming through him with every motion, every breath, Aziraphale pulled his wings back into a rest position and looked down.

At some point during his Fall, some part of his subconscious must have diverted a portion of his powers towards Crowley - he had been cleaned of any evidence of Asmodeus' touch, the golden manacles previously encircling his wrists reduced to slag, body clad in a black robe that looked suspiciously like the one he'd worn in Eden. Crowley quivered, barely audible as he sobbed, refusing to lift his gaze to meet Aziraphale's.

A small part of Aziraphale worried that perhaps wrapping his arms around Crowley wasn't the best idea, considering that everything he'd just been forced to go through would likely have given him an aversion to touch, even if it was just for a while. The rest of the Falling angel screamed in torment, and begged for him to cling to the other demon like he was the only constant in the universe. He succumbed, and Crowley grabbed at him like a man drowning.

The pain was unfathomable, only even bearable because it had already peaked when he'd torn his Grace out of his chest. Aziraphale had expected the sensation of Falling to be something akin to burning. Instead, it was a _rending_ , the very atoms that made up his being seeming to shred and reform themselves as his intrinsic nature was forcibly changed, a sensation so powerful that even the lingering ghost of it left him shuddering uncontrollably. He could only sob with relief and sorrow, tears now fully black, as Crowley returned the embrace with equal tenacity.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to post this yesterday, so sorry! Hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn't entirely clear to Aziraphale how long he knelt there for, holding Crowley and being held in return. Time was such a nebulous concept in Hell, it would be impossible to determine how much of it had passed until they returned to Earth. 

Aziraphale could feel the tacky, half-dried ichor staining his cheeks. He slowly extricated himself from Crowley's grip and scrubbed at them with his palms, absently expending a miracle to clean himself up.

When he'd been an angel, performing a miracle had felt like sunlight heating his face, golden warmth soaking down into him and gently flowing out of him, always leaving him feeling like he'd just been wrapped up in a loving embrace. As a demon, he felt the power of it surge up through the soles of his feet, coursing through his body at breakneck speed before spilling out of his fingertips, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. He was surprised to find that the feeling wasn't at all unpleasant.

He did his very best to focus on that, and not the yawning pit within him where his Grace had once resided.

"Well," he said, a little shaky, then miracled his throat because it sounded like he'd just spent the past few hours screaming. "Glad that's over." He shifted one hand gently to Crowley's shoulder, keeping his touch light so the other demon could easily shrug free if he needed to. "Are you ready to go, my dear? Or do you need a moment?"

"Your _wings_ ," Crowley whispered, staring as Aziraphale turned to look at them. Aziraphale absently combed his fingers through the feathers he could most easily reach to dislodge some of the remaining few white ones.

"Bit more to it than just the wings," he replied with a strained cheerfulness. "Although I do suppose it means we'll match, now."

Crowley's face crumpled. "You should've let me- you shouldn't've-"

"Nonsense, I should have done it far sooner. It was unbelievably cruel of me to let you suffer as you did, for as long as you did, purely for my sake. I know I have done and said many awful, undeserved things to you over the years, but this..." He looked down at his hands, clasping them together to stem their trembling. "If I deserved to Fall for anything, it would be for this. I am sorry, Crowley. I don't expect you to forgive me."

"N-" Crowley shook his head almost violently, panic only seeming to increase. "No, _I'm_ the one who should be- I'm so _sorry_ , please, you have to believe I didn't want this for you, please, please don't-"

He came to a shuddering halt as Aziraphale gently cupped his cheeks, wiping away the tears. "Crowley," he said, projecting all the love and tenderness he possibly could into his voice. "I know what Hell was trying to accomplish in making me Fall, and you must believe me, _it didn't work._ Nothing that they, or anyone, could ever diminish the way I feel about you." He mustered a small smile. "We are our own side. That hasn't changed, and it never will."

Crowley didn't say anything, just kept staring at Aziraphale. Specifically his wings and his eyes. Aziraphale had to admit he was a little afraid to ask what his eyes looked like now; he supposed he'd probably have to follow Crowley's lead and invest in some sunglasses.

Becoming a demon hadn't dulled his emotional intuition, though, and Aziraphale could tell that Crowley wasn't ready yet to begin to address the horror and humiliation he'd been subjected to. That he needed the distance of time before being able to parse out his feelings about it. The fact that Aziraphale had just Fallen might well prove a useful distraction.

"I do hope it's not too much of an imposition to ask you to teach me about being a demon," he asked softly. "I've picked up on a thing or two from the Arrangement, but I still don't want to make any faux pas."

Crowley swallowed, but nodded, tremors abating a little as he was given something else to focus on. "Well, first thing's first," he said, voice only catching a bit, "What're you going to take as your demonic name?"

Aziraphale gave him a nonplussed look. "Whatever do you mean?"

"When- when you Fall, you don't use your angelic name anymore. You choose a demonic one." He grimaced. "Or, one gets chosen for you."

"Says whom?"

"Says-" Crowley frowned. He wasn't sure, exactly. It was just something all the Fallen had done after the Rebellion. Strangely, it hadn't been something he'd ever questioned. "Says the rules," he settled on, weakly.

Aziraphale snorted. "Sod the rules," he replied huffily. "It's my name, I'm keeping it. Who's going to stop me? God? She's quite literally not the boss of me anymore." He straightened cuffs of his shirt, secretly relieved that him acting just as he usually did seemed to have a calming effect on Crowley. "Besides, I'm not redoing all my stationery."

Crowley stared as the former angel smoothed imaginary wrinkles from his waistcoat.

"For that matter, I'm not changing my wardrobe, either. Don't get me wrong, my dear, all that black looks rather fetching on you, but it would just wash me out."

"Of course," Crowley murmured faintly, very rapidly realising that Aziraphale as a demon really wasn't going to be all that different from Aziraphale as an angel. Just with a lot less self-recrimination for enjoying the things he enjoyed. "What now, then, angel?" he asked, then belatedly flinched. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Aziraphale's expression became tender once more. "Don't apologise, my dear. Just because I've Fallen doesn't mean you need to stop calling me that." He fixed the other demon with his clear gaze. "At any rate, we both know you've used it as a term of endearment for far longer than you've used it to simply describe what I am."

Tears welled in Crowley's eyes again. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault, I-"

He stopped as Aziraphale lovingly gathered Crowley's hands with his own.

"No, Crowley. _I_ made a choice. _I_ chose you. I will remind you of that as many times as you need me to." He gave Crowley's fingers a gentle squeeze. "You said you wanted to offer me everything. The least I can do is offer the same." The corners of his lips quirked up sadly. "If you'll still have me, that is. You'd be well within your rights to reject me, I've behaved appallingly and it would be the least of what I deserve."

"Angel," he whispered, a plea, a prayer, a confession. "I love you."

He said it like he was still worried Aziraphale wouldn't say it back.

"Oh, _Crowley_ ," Aziraphale said quietly, smile growing even as fresh tears sprang to his eyes. "You must know that I love you too, more than anything in creation."  
  
Crowley let out a small, broken sound, flinging his arms around Aziraphale's shoulders and holding on like he was never going to let go. Aziraphale buried his face against Crowley's hair, eyes crushed shut as he took a moment to just breath him in. He felt something within him resolve, felt the new gaping hole in his constituent matter shrink a little.

Eventually, he pulled back just the slightest, murmuring, "We should probably leave before too long." His gaze flicked over to where Asmodeus had once stood, now little more than a greasy smear on the ground. "Surely someone will come around to check up on things sooner rather than later."

"Right," Crowley replied, voice cracking as he nodded several times over. "'Sides, we... we've got a breakfast date planned, don't we? Don't want to be late for that."

There was still such a hesitancy in Crowley's voice, as if what happened could possibly make Aziraphale love him less, as if Crowley was the one with grievous mistakes to answer for, and Aziraphale felt his battered heart break.

He looked at the way Crowley was still trembling off and on, and quickly resolved to have something delivered to the bookshop, rather than have Crowley being forced to act like nothing was wrong in public. No, he'd simply leave the closed sign up, give Crowley a safe place to stay so he wouldn't feel alone, and offer him as little or as much love as he wanted.

"Of course, my dear," he said softly. "Let's go home."


End file.
